Chapter Twenty-Five
Brannie woke up to the face of fear and terror. She tried to move as far away as possible, but she was trapped between that face and Aidan’s big body on the other side of her.
“What are you doing?” she finally asked.
“Are you feeling better? Can we leave now? I want to leave now.”
Not knowing how to answer any of that, she jabbed the body next to her.
“What?”
“You deal with him.”
Aidan raised his head and rested his chin on Brannie’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, Uther?”
“We want out. The witches are trying to poison us—”
“You sure that’s just not seasoning you’re looking at?”
“—we think the Riders are dead somewhere—”
“Or just relegated to the stables.”
“—and Keita is meaner than we ever thought. We want to go.”
“We have to wait until Brannie’s better.”
“She looks better.” Uther suddenly leaned in close. So close, if it had been Aidan, she’d assume he was trying to kiss her. “Tell him you’re better!”
The door opened behind Uther and several of the witches walked in. One came over to the bed. She held a large bucket of steaming water.
“We thought you’d like a bath,” she said to Brannie while staring at Uther.
“That sounds lovely.”
The witch pointed at Uther with her elbow. “Is he bothering you?”
“No,” Uther said.
“Yes,” Aidan said.
The witch pulled one hand away from the bucket and flicked it.
Fascinated, Brannie watched a panicked Uther slide backward out the door and into the hallway.
“That was wrong!” he yelled, but he didn’t come back into the room.
Smiling, the witch joined her sisters and together they filled up the metal tub. Oil was added to the water and the smell was so delicious that Brannie didn’t even wait for the witches to leave before she made her way to the tub and lowered herself in.
She closed her eyes and relaxed her head back against the tub rim. It suddenly occurred to her it was morning, the suns’ light filtering into the room through slats in the wood ceiling. The pain in her back had lessened to the point of being nonexistent and even the itching of healing skin was no longer present. But her human skin was definitely scarred. She reached back and could feel the difference between recently damaged and undamaged.
Not that Brannie cared, but this particular scar was big, still stretching from her shoulder to the back of her calf on her right side.
Of course, it could have been worse. That scar could be at the front instead. That would be unpleasant.
Deciding not to worry about any of that, she closed her eyes again and let out a happy sigh . . . until the water around her sloshed, splashing her in the face.
Lifting her head and opening her eyes, she watched Aidan getting comfortable opposite her in the tub.
“What are you doing?”
“Why shouldn’t I bathe, too?” he asked.
“You can . . . when I’m done.”
“I’m not the great Captain Branwen the Awful. Those witches aren’t going to set up a bath for me. They’re just going to chuck me out of the room like they did poor Uther.”
Brannie snorted a laugh, unable to help herself.
“Don’t look at me that way,” she told Aidan. “I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just . . .”
Aidan smiled. “I know. And it was a little funny.” He studied her. “How’s your back?”
“Better than I expected.”
“Good.”
“Were you worried?”
“You got a lightning bolt to the back, Branwen. Of course I was worried.”
Brannie shook her head. “I have to admit . . . it hurt like a bitch. And worse than anything you can get from a Lightning, that’s for sure. I mean, their bolts hurt, but . . . the real thing?” She shuddered. “Don’t need to go through that again. Ever.”
“Let me see.”
Brannie turned, pulling her knees up under her chin, her arms around her legs, her head bent forward. Aidan’s fingers brushed against the back of her neck, moving her wet hair out of the way.
“Humans,” he murmured. “I don’t know how they survive anything with such frail bodies.”
His fingers moved down the edges of the wound.
“So,” he said, and she could feel him getting closer even though the water barely moved, “here’s the question.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Would you go through that again . . . if it meant you didn’t have to go near a boat?”
“Absolutely.”
He laughed against her neck and Brannie dropped her head back, trying to see him. But then his lips were against hers. She automatically opened her mouth and their tongues met.
Aidan dug his hands into her hair and his urgency . . .
Brannie went up on her knees and turned completely around, throwing her arms around his shoulders.
“Shut up!” Brannie told him.
“I didn’t say anything!” he replied, laughing.
“You were about to. I could see it in your eyes.”
“You should be resting.”
“I find fucking restful.”
Aidan smirked. “Not the way I do it.”
Now determined, Brannie slapped her hand against his chest, shoved him back into the water, and launched herself at him.
* * *
Laughing, Aidan grabbed Brannie’s hips and tried to push her back, but she was unwilling to give up the territory she’d already taken.
Plus, she was slippery, the water and oils making it hard to keep his grip on her.
“Can we not discuss this?” he asked.
“No. We can’t.” She pinned him against the tub wall and leaned in. “Just take it. Take it like a dragon!”
Aidan snorted and they both started laughing, Brannie dropping onto him.
“You’re ridiculous,” she complained against his neck.
“Why is everything always my fault?”
“Because it is.”
She began to nibble at the skin beneath his ear.
“Branwen—”
“Stop talking.”
“Make me.”
She kissed him, and it did shut him up.
Aidan slipped his fingers into Branwen’s hair and pulled her closer, wanting to explore every crevice of her mouth. Wanting to know what every part of her felt like.
Her hands pressed against his chest, eased down his skin and under the water. She gripped his cock, held it tight. She really didn’t have to squeeze, though. Just her touch had him hard. Knowing she wanted him had him hard.
Brannie settled her knees on either side of his thighs and lowered her body. She held onto his cock until it entered her pussy. She moved her hands to his shoulders and dropped down hard. He gasped into her mouth, fingers gripping her wet hips again, holding her tight against him.
Her muscles squeezed him, her arms now around his neck, her lips locked against his.
They kissed and Brannie squeezed until Aidan knew he couldn’t take any more. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled out of their kiss enough so that he could ask, “Am I hurting your back?”
She shook her head and leaned in for another kiss.
“Good,” he whispered against her lips before he slipped his tongue into her mouth and drove into her hard from below.
Brannie released the grip she had on his neck and caught the rim of the tub with both hands, holding on, letting Aidan fuck her.
She didn’t speak but she groaned and occasionally gave the most adorable squeak when he thrust up, her head resting on his shoulder.
After a few minutes, he pressed his hand against the side of her neck and pushed her back until she released her hold on the tub. He bent her back a bit more, then leaned forward and licked the space between her breasts before sucking a nipple into his mouth.
Brannie growled and her fingers gripped his hair, pressing him to her breast. He continued to suck and tease even while he hammered into her.
With one hand still twisted in his hair, Brannie grabbed his shoulder with the other and dug her fingers into the skin. She had no real nails, always keeping them short for battle, but her grasp was brutal. Painful. Ruthless.
He loved it.
Especially when she came. Her entire body clenched and Aidan’s eyes crossed from the pain and pleasure. The way she clamped down on him, biting her lip to stop from crying out.
He watched her. Amazed at how beautiful she looked coming like that. So beautiful, he came right behind her, unable to control himself.
And it was all because of her. All because of Branwen the Awful.
* * *
When Branwen could see and hear again, when she was no longer lost in fucking Aidan the Divine, she collapsed against him, her head landing on his shoulder.
They held on to each other, both breathing hard, waiting for the tremors racking their bodies to stop.
And, when they did, she said, “Shut up.”
“Again, Branwen,” he laughed, “I didn’t say anything!”
* * *
Bram the Merciful closed his eyes and dropped back into the chair.
“Are you sure?” he asked the two sitting across from him.
Var raised an eyebrow. “Of course I’m sure,” he said with an arrogance Bram usually only heard from Var’s mother. “Do you think I’d bother telling you Brigida was rooting through our library of books if I wasn’t sure?”
“What could she be looking for?”
“An ancient book of dragon spells,” Frederick explained again.
“I don’t mean what did she take? What was she looking for within the book?”
“That we don’t know,” Frederick admitted. “I couldn’t read it—”
“—and I hadn’t gotten to it yet to fully know what’s inside,” Var finished.
“And now you know why I told you, Unnvar, to deal with the dragon books first.”
“They’re boring.”
“Not everything can be entertaining, and now we don’t know what Brigida the Most Foul is up to.”
“That’s hardly my fault.”
“You didn’t help.”
“So what do we do now?” Frederick asked, always one to stop a possible dispute with reason.
“I’ve already taken care of that,” Var said simply. Too simply.
It was the strangest thing. The boy had such intense arrogance. Not about his beauty—and, like his father, he was beautiful—nor about his intelligence. He just accepted them as part of who he was. But when it came to his certainty that he was making the best decisions for all involved . . . that’s where Var’s arrogance outshone his mother’s and father’s. He didn’t ask questions about his decisions, he simply announced that he’d made one and everyone else had best keep up.
But the boy was only eighteen. He didn’t seem to grasp that he had much more to learn.
Bram shot an exasperated glance at Frederick, who also looked worried about Var’s pronouncement.
“And what, exactly, does that mean?”
Now focused on whatever papers he had in front of him, Var didn’t even bother to look up at Bram when he replied, “That I’ve taken care of it.”
“I need specifics.”
After writing something down—and still not looking up—Var motioned to the doorway with his quill.
Before Bram could blink, she suddenly swept into the doorway naked. Arlais ran in after, pushing past all those Mì-runach who had accompanied her, and placed a robe around her grandmother’s shoulders.
“Think of the servants!” Arlais snapped at her before flouncing out.
“I do know how hard it is for them to see so much perfection,” Rhiannon agreed until she realized her granddaughter was gone. “Stay outside,” she ordered her Mì-runach guards.
“But, my lady—” one began.
Rhiannon kicked the door shut with her foot. “I adore my Mì-runach,” she admitted, “but now that Bercelak is gone, they don’t give me a moment without seeing their needy, eager faces.”
She pushed her white hair off her cheeks and the strain he saw on her face told Bram the weight she now carried on her shoulders. A weight she usually managed with no effort, no strain. But that was because Bercelak was always at her side, lightening everything around her by being so impossibly angry and barely controllable.
With that support gone, Rhiannon didn’t bother to hide her true self. A side Bram was sure her grandson had never seen.
“So,” Rhiannon asked flatly, “why am I here?”
Bram glared at Var. “You sent for your grandmother before speaking to me first?”
Var sighed and wrote something on the parchment in front of him. “I hear tone, Uncle.”
“I’m waiting,” Rhiannon pushed.
Var could hear Bram’s tone but he couldn’t hear his grandmother’s? Foolish boy!
“Nothing, my queen,” Bram tried. “You have much bigger concerns than—”
“Brigida took one of the books out of our library,” Var cut in, still scribbling away. “A book on dragon magicks. I hadn’t had a chance to go through that book myself so we have no idea what she wanted with it, but my concern is that she only went for it after Arlais turned down her offer to be her apprentice. I strongly suggest we move on her quickly. I understand she’s family, so my recommendation is we just put her somewhere safe until we figure out exactly what she’s up to. I’m assuming you can handle that, Grandmother, since the twins and Rhi are currently at the front?”
With a flourish, he signed the bottom of the paper he was working on and finally—grudgingly—looked away from his work and up at his grandmother. That’s when Var blinked and leaned back a bit in his chair.
It was, for Var, a reaction that suggested immense shock.
“Is there an issue, Grandmother?” he asked.
“You want us to magickally bind and bury an elder of the Cadwaladr Clan?” Rhiannon asked, her voice calm.
Extremely calm.
“As I said, I know she’s family and has been useful in the past,” Var explained, “so I’d never suggest we kill her.”
“Then what are you suggesting?”
“That we get and maintain control of her. She’s a danger.”
“She’s a witch.”
“And your point?”
Bram gave a small jerk of his head at Frederick and the boy, a survivor like his aunt Dagmar, immediately moved out of his chair and to the back of the room.
Bram followed. He’d been working with Rhiannon for centuries. He knew her almost as well as he knew Ghleanna. And he knew the dangers of both. Sadly, his grandnephew had not bothered to learn those dangers yet. Nor had he learned when to listen to Bram.
“There was once a royal,” Rhiannon told her grandson, “who attempted to control witches. He marked them so they’d be easy to spot. Your aunt Morfyd, because she didn’t want the humans she tended to know she was dragon and be frightened of her, stood while a human marked her as a witch on her face.”
“I . . . I wasn’t suggesting—”
“Do you know what happened to that monarch?” Rhiannon asked. “Your aunt Annwyl killed him and took his head. His name was Lorcan and he was her brother. She never mentions him,” she continued. “With reason. Of course, if Annwyl hadn’t killed him . . . I would have. I’d called Keita back to do just that once I saw what he’d done to my daughter.”
“Grandmother, I—”
Rhiannon twitched her fore- and middle fingers and the heavy wood table Var was still sitting at slid hard across the room and slammed into the far wall.
She took a few steps until she stood in front of her still-sitting grandson.
“So I’m sure you’ll understand,” she went on, “if I’m concerned that you want to bind and trap a witch for being a witch.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I will not allow you, Unnvar, to travel down a path made up of those Annwyl has already killed. Not my grandson. Now, if Brigida does something that concerns me, then I will handle it. Witches will handle it. Not you, with the backing of legions. Do we understand each other?”
“We do.”
“Good.” She turned and started toward the door. “In future, you may want to discuss these sorts of concerns with your uncle Bram first. He’s very good at knowing how to handle situations before they ever have to come to me. The mark of a good representative of a queen, wouldn’t you say?” She opened the door and looked back at Var. “And you, my good lad, still have a bit more to learn.”
After the queen walked out, slamming the door behind her, Bram and Frederick went across the room, picked up the table and carried it back until it was in front of Var again. They then pulled their chairs out and sat down.
Var, eyes downcast, said, “That was a bit of a miscalculation on my part.”
Bram and Frederick exchanged surprised glances. The boy wasn’t one for admitting when he’d screwed up. It wasn’t in his nature. He might be thinking it, but he rarely admitted it.
“It was,” Bram agreed. “But you care about your kin. Nothing wrong with that.”
“So what do I need to do next time?”
“Make sure there’s not a next time.”
“Do you know what your mother does?” Frederick asked. “She learns from others’ mistakes. But she especially learns from her own. Master that, and I’m sure you’ll keep your head.”
Frowning deeply, Var turned to gape at his human cousin, his mouth open.
“What?” Frederick asked. “We all know how Annwyl is about witches and her kin. Especially kin that are witches. You cross that line, Var, and she’ll take your head right off.”
Bram laughed and his grandnephew now looked at him with his mouth open.
“Oh, Var, you have to know that your cousin is right.”